The alphabet game had ended, the sun was fading, and the children were silent as Selby navigated the Great Smokies on the old road to Knoxville. It was a good cover, John reflected: a family vacation in the old Ford wagon. He glanced in the mirror and mentally catalogued the vehicles nearby. The only one still with them since crossing the Tennessee border was the maroon and white Tommy’s Chips van. He glanced over at his wife who was dozing, then moved out to pass a farm truck that had unaccountably slowed.
Too late he realized the trap, yet hit the brakes and swung the Ford hard right anyway. The leaf springs of the wagon were not up such maneuvering, and the car gave a sickening dip to the left before skidding and rolling twice on the roadway, sliding on its roof and cutting through a guard rail. The car tumbled end over end down the side of the mountain. Machine gun spray from the Tommy’s Chips van traced after the car, but no bullets found their mark.
Hank was thrown through the windshield, while his sister and brother lay crumpled in the back of what remained of the wagon. John and Jane were dazed, but on the brink of unconsciousness. There was no fire, no explosion.
Then, silence. Around the remnant of Ford wagon cicadas began to chirp again, and the mountain clouds began their evening descent into the valley.
List o' Favorite Bits:
ReplyDeleteimagery:
"The alphabet game had ended, the sun was fading, and the children were silent as Selby navigated the Great Smokies on the old road to Knoxville."
"Then, silence. Around the remnant of Ford wagon cicadas began to chirp again, and the mountain clouds began their evening descent into the valley."
7? 7!
ReplyDelete